THE 

SIN   OF  DAVID 


BY 

STEPHEN    PHILLIPS 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ULYSSES,"  ETC. 


Neto  ffork 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 


All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1904, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  November,  1904.     Reprinted 
January,  1906;  April,  1911. 


J.  S.  Gushing  fc  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 

F.  C 

THIS  BOOK   IS  DEDICATED 


274683 


ACT  I 


CHARACTERS 


SIR  HUBERT  LISLE, 
HUBERT, 

COLONEL  MARDYKE, 

COTTON, 

FINCH, 

MARSH, 

CRABLOVE, 

IRON, 

JOYCE, 
A  DOCTOR. 

RATCLIFFE, 


MIRIAM, 
MARTHA, 


f  Commander  of  the  Parliamentary 
I      forces  in  the  Fenland. 

f  The  child  of  Lisle  and  Miriam  in 
\      Act  III. 


Of  the  Parliamentary  army,  owner 
of  Rushland,  the  headquarters 
of  the  army. 


Officers     of    the     Parliamentary 
army. 


A  lieutenant. 


(Servant  of  Mar  dyke ;    afterward 
of  Lisle. 

f  Wife  of  Mar  dyke ;    afterward  of 


I      Lisle. 
Sister  of  Mar  dyke. 

OFFICERS,  NURSES,  SOLDIERS,  etc. 


The  period  of  the  play  is  that  of  the  English  Civil  War  between 
Charles  I  and  the  Parliament. 


THE 
SIN    OF    DAVID 

ACT  I 

TIME.  —  Summer  of  1643,  tlte  first  year  of 
the  war:   noontide. 

SCENE.  —  Hall  of  Rushland  House,  the  head- 

» 

quarters  of  the  Puritan  army  in  the  Fen- 
lands.  On  the  left  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
up  to  a  turret-chamber.  A  door  on  either 
side,  on  the  right  communicating  outward, 
on  the  left  inward.  Ai  the  back,  a  door 
flanked  by  recessed  windows  opens  on  a 

terrace  beyond,  with  foliage :  of  Jvf.lars  and 
9 


10  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

alders,  and  a  distant  view  of  the  Fens. 
Various  military  officers  are  standing  in 
silence,  with  bowed  heads  and  folded  hands, 
as  in  prayer,  around  a  table  covered  witJi 
papers.  MARDYKE  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  table. 

MARDYKE.     [After  a  pause, ,]     Now,  sirs, 

that  we  have  sought  the  Lord  in  prayer, 

Each    one    in    silence,    will    we    hear    and 

judge, 

Knowing  ourselves  His  mortal  instruments. 
All   we  with    clean   hearts    unto   judgment 

come; 

Yet  in  Thy  sight  no  human  heart  is  clean; 
*;  ;*And  4f«  wp.jxinish  others,  we  ourselves 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  n 

Are  ready  to  abide  Thy  punishment. 

» 

\They  slowly  seat  themselves. 
Read,    Captain !       Who    is    charged    with 

mutiny, 
With    plunder   or  with    harryings    or  with 

flame, 

Making  God's  army  of  the  Fenland  mocked, 
A  hissing  and  abomination,  yea, 
A  laughter  sweet  unto  the  Philistine, 
And  all  our  fire,  our  kindling,  and  our  zeal, 
As    ashes    fallen,  and   as   the   greyness   of 

ashes  ? 
Read! 
COTTON.    \Rising  with  papers  in  his  hand.'] 

There  is  nothing  here  of  mutiny, 
Nor  here  is  any  charged  with  drunken  rage, 


12  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

With    plunder    or    with    harryings    or    with 

flame, 
To    make    God's     army    of    the    Fenland 

mocked. 

But  one  among  us  is  of  carnal  crime 
Loudly   accused:    'tis  charged  against  him 

here 
That  he  by  violence  hath  a  maid  undone. 

\_Murmurs. 
His  name  Lieutenant  Joyce :    who   on  this 

cry 

Arrested  and  close-guarded  waits  without. 
FINCH.     Is    this   already  public   in  men's 

mouths, 

So  noised  we  cannot  overpass  it,  sir? 
If  not,  'twere  well  to  mingle  policy 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  13 

With  zeal,  and  hush  it  for  the  larger  good. 
MARSH.     Publish  it  not,  lest  we  be  pointed 

at. 
Such   is   our   cause  a   little   smirch   undoes 

it, 

By  its  own  virtue  the  more  vulnerable : 
Greatness  hath  often  by  a  whisper  crashed. 
COTTON.     The    thing    is    public    and    the 

wayside  talk; 
The    clucking   housewife   hath   it,    and  the 

crone 

Mumbles  it  sitting  half-out  in  the  sun. 
MARDYKE.     Public    or    no,    I    palter    not 

with   heaven. 

The  sin  is  sinned ;   and  if  we  punish  not, 
Then  stand  we  here  partakers  of  the  sin. 


14  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

CRABLOVE.     Doth  Joyce  deny  this?     Let 
us  hear  him  speak. 

[MARDYKE  motions  to  bring  in  JOYCE. 
COTTON.     Freely  he   hath   confessed  and 
bides  the  issue. 

Enter  JOYCE,  guarded 
MARDYKE.    Lieutenant,  publicly  you  stand 

accused 
Of  a  young  maid's  enforcement:  what  say 

you 

In  answer? 

JOYCE.  I  make  answer,  "  It  is  true." 

MARDYKE.      None    here     can     come   be- 
tween thee  and  thy  God. 
Yet  in  mid-madness  didst  thou  not  recall 
That  thou  wert  more  than  Joyce :  an  officer 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  15 

In   this    our    righteous   warring;    that    you 

brought 

This  holy  host  into  derision?     Speak. 
JOYCE.     Her   face  was   close   to   me,  and 

dimmed  the  world. 

Yet  have  I  fought,  and  in  the  front  of  all. 
Shall    one    mad    moment    all    those    hours 

outweigh  ? 

(Who  being  human  is  for  ever  sure?    j 
MARDYKE.    [Rising J]    God  needs  not  thy 

polluted  arm  henceforth. 
He  asks  not  Captain,    no,    nor  man-at-arms 
Of  heart  unclean:   thou  shalt  not  fight  for 

Him. 

Take  him  away !   thy  punishment  with  us. 
\Exit  JOYCE,  guarded. 


16  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Now,  sirs,  he  hath   confessed,  his  sentence 
lies 

With  us. 

FINCH.     You,  sir,  who  fought  with   Eng- 
lish Vere 

At  Heidelberg,  at  Mannheim  and  Ostend, 

Where'er  the  persecuted  faithful  fell, 

Whose  fame  still  clings   about  the  vines  of 
France, 

How  dealt  ye   in   those   camps  with  carnal 

crime  ? 

MARDYKE.     Our  cause,  as   now,  required 
our  spotlessness, 

And  we  on  grave  occasion  visited 

Such  sin  with  death! 

Enter  RATCLIFFE,  with  letter 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  17 

RATCLIFFE.  A  letter,  sir,  post-haste. 

MARDYKE.  [After  glancing  at  letter. ~\ 
Summon  your  mistress  and  my  sister 
here. 

[Exit  RATCLIFFE. 
This    letter,     sirs,    concerns     us    all  —  I'll 

read. 

"  I,  Sir  Hubert  Lisle,  being  appointed  by 
the  Parliament  to  the  command  of  their 
levies  in  the  Fenland,  where,  as  I  hear, 
there  is  much  need  of  enkindling,  do  pro- 
pose, by  your  leave,  to  make  Rushland 
House  my  headquarters.  I  know  that  your 
zeal  will  not  refuse  me  this  if  it  be  any 
way  possible ;  but  I  pray  you  excuse  me 
to  your  lady  for  so  sudden  demand  on  her 

B 


i8  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

kindness.  I  follow  hard  on  this  letter,  and 
am  minded  to  stir  up  such  a  fire  in  this 
region  as  shall  not  easily  be  put  out. 

"  HUBERT  LISLE." 
[Animated  murmurs. 
Sirs,   with    my    wife   I    must    have  speech 

forthwith, 
And  make  such  preparation  as  I  may. 

\The  officers  retire  in  eager  dis- 
cussion on  to  the  terrace  at  back, 
and  from  time  to  time  they  are 
visible  conversing  together  during 
the  scene  which  follows.  Mean- 
while MIRIAM  and  MARTHA 
enter.  MIRIAM  stands  submis- 
sively before  MARDYKE,  who,  intent 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  19 

on    letter,  does  not  observe  her  for 
a  moment. 

Mistress,  you   must   prepare,  and  instantly, 
For  entertainment  of  Sir  Hubert  Lisle, 
Sent  hither  to  command  our  Fenland   host. 
Learn  then  what  manner  of  man  is  he  who 

comes ; 
One     sprung     to     arms     from     England's 

chivalry, 

Despising  lure  of  courtier  or  of  priest, 
To  fight  the  fight  of  freedom  and  of  God : 
In  foreign  battle  nursed,  yet  not  as  we, 
Stricken   and    bowed,   but    in    his   flush    of 

strength ; 
Quickly  provide,  then !     Stand  thou  by  his 

chair 


20  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

And  bring  with  thine   own    hands   the   cup 

of  welcome: 
See    he    lack    nought    thou    canst    bestow. 

But  hither!  [She  turns  to  go. 

Miriam !  heed  well  that  you  displease  him  not 
By  silly  gaud  on  bosom  or  in  hair, 
Lest  he  account   thee   light,  a  daughter  of 

Gath. 
I'll    strip    this    chain    from     thee;     these 

wanton  beads, 
Meshes  of  Satan,  grind  I  into  dust. 

[He  snatches    chain    roughly  from    her 

and  tramples  it  under  foot. 
You,  Martha,  with  a  graver   thought   assist 
My  wife.     Receive  this   guest  as  from   the 

Lord!  [Exit  MARDYKE. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  21 

MIRIAM.     \Trembling.~\     Am  I  not  as  that 

chain,  trod  underfoot, 
Chidden  and  checked  even  more  than  when 

a  child? 
MARTHA.     My  brother  sternly  broods,  but 

loves  you  still. 
MIRIAM.     Why,  Martha,  why  could  I  not 

ever  stay 

His  daughter  ?     So  my  dying  father  left  me, 
When    side    by    side    they    fought    at    La 

Rochelle ; 

And  as  his  daughter  grew  I  up  submiss; 
Why  must  he  then  make  me  his  wife? 

MARTHA.  Perchance 

To     shelter    you,    and     comfort    his    grey 
heart. 


22  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

MIRIAM.     I  am  no  wife  to  him;   and  the 

waked  woman 
Within    me    cries    against    the    yoke    and 

loathes  it. 
MARTHA.     Why  to  so  loathed  a  marriage 

did  you  yield? 
MIRIAM.       How    could    my    orphanhood 

withstand  his  will  ? 

Did  I  not  owe  him  all,  refuge  and  bread, 
And  sheltering  sustenance?     Could   I  take 

all, 

And  then  refuse  that  petty  price  "  myself," 
Sole   price   which    he  who    gave    so    much 

required  ? 
Well  I    have  paid  to  the  full !     He  starves 

my  soul, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  23 

He    locks    my    spirit    up    and     keeps    the 
key. 

MARTHA.     Say  not  there  is  some  other  — 

MIRIAM.         No  one.     No. 
My  misery  is  faithful  to  him. 

MARTHA.  Child, 

What    is't    you    sigh    for,    whither    would 

you  fly  ? 
I  cannot  understand. 

MIRIAM.  Nor  I  myself; 

And  'tis  the  very  blindness  of  this  beating 
That  makes  of   me  a  creature  so  unhappy. 
And   unto  thee   a   plague. 

MARTHA.  Never,  my  child. 

MIRIAM.      O    thou    dear    Martha,    living 
without  sin, 


24  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

And  reputably   rusting   to   the   grave, 
Thou     vacant     house      moated     about     by 

peace, 
Thou   shadow   perfect,   and   thou   blameless 

ghost, 
I   cannot   feed   my   soul    on    "  Thou    shalt 

not." 
I'll  fight   'gainst   numbness,  wrestle  against 

rust. 
There's  the   arch-foe   of   women!   this  doth 

kill  us. 

Not   pain,    nor   secret    arrow    of    the    mid- 
night 
That     quivers     till    the     bird-song,    ended 

faith, 
Mortal  surprise   of   marriage,  nor  the  dawn 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  25 

Of  golden-vista'd  children  clouded  quite, 
Nor  fallen  loneliness  where  love  hath  been. 
These,  these  are  understood,  wept  o'er  and 

sung. 
But   worse,    ah,   worse  the   folding    of   the 

hands, 

The  human   face  left  by  the  tide  of   life,  / 
The    worm    already    at    the    human    heart,  j 
MARTHA.     Sooner   the    worm   than    guilt 

within  the  heart. 
MIRIAM.     No !  I  would  rather  drench  my 

soul  in  sin 
So    I    might   feel   this    fire   and    grip    this 

glory, 
The  colour  and   the  bloom  and  the  music 

of  life  ! 


26  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

MARTHA.     Miriam  !  no  more  I'll  listen  to 

you.     Know 
That   He   who   gave    us    life    ordained    us 

law. 
MIRIAM.     Law !     And  is  law  then  but  to 

bind  and  freeze  ? 
By  law  the  lightning  spurts,  and  the  earth 

quakes, 

And  the  spring  surges  thro'  a  million  buds ; 
And   law   is  filled  with   rushings   and    with 

thunder. 

MARTHA.     You    must*  endure.     Thy    an- 
cestors and  mine 

Went  for  their  faith  to  torment  and  to  fire. 
MIRIAM.     Ah,    for  their    faith !     I    hope 
my  blood  is  theirs, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  37 

And    I   would   splash   the  flames  about  my 

head 

Gladly  as  in  a  bath  for  splendid  death, 
But  for  this  life  no  life  I  was  not  born. 
MARTHA.     When    there     shall     come     a 

child  — 

MIRIAM.  Ah,  speak  it  not ! 

A  child  of  him  !     I  sicken,  I  quake  at  it ; 
My  very  flesh  doth  shiver.     Think  you  I 
Could  squander  upon  any  child  of  him 
The  brooding  balm  and  wistful  riches,  all 
The  holy  longing  that  on  summer  evens 
Arises  homeless  in  my  silent  heart  ? 
Babes   that   we    love,  we   must   have   loved 
ere  birth. 
[RATCLIFFE  enters  behind  and  beckons  to 


28  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

the  officers  outside.  As  he  passes 
MIRIAM,  he  picks  up  chain  and 
gives  it  her.  She  gives  him  her 
hand>  which  he  kisses.  She  smiles 
sadly  on  him.  He  goes  out. 

MARTHA.     See,  they  return.     Come,  then. 

Give  me  the  keys  ! 
MIRIAM.     Ah  !   might  this  tumult  find  at 

last  a  goal ! 

\_Exeunt  MARTHA  and  MIRIAM. 

Reenter  slowly  military  officers,  who  seat 
themselves  at  the  table.  Lastly  enter 
MARDYKE.  He  sits  at  the  head 

MARDYKE.     Do  Thou,  O    Lord,  direct  a 
right  our  minds, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  29 

And  our  decision  be  unto  Thy  glory! 
Your  judgment,  sirs,  upon  Lieutenant  Joyce ! 
Shall  we  but  cast  him  from  us  as  unclean  ? 
Or  shall  we  punish  carnal  crime  with  death  ? 
FINCH.     Purge  we  our  army  of   the  sin- 
ner; yet 

See  we  deter  not  by  too  fierce  a  doom 
Others  that  waver  still  from   taking   sword. 
IRON.     If   outrage   be    not   punished   the 

whole  land 

Rising  in  wrath  against  us  will  take  sword. 
COTTON.     My  voice  also  for  death;  when 

war  begins, 
Mercy  at  first  is  cruelty  at  last. 

MARSH.     Break   him,   but   leave   him   lei 
sure  to  repent. 


30  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

CRABLOVE.     Enough  we  cast  him  straight- 
way from  among  us. 
MARDYKE.     For    death    my    voice ;    else 

every  one  of  us 
Will  into  holy  battle  go  unclean. 

FINCH.     [Rising.']     The  vote  is  even! 
MARSH.  What  shall  now  decide? 

\Trumpet  heard. 
Enter  RATCLIFFE,  hurriedly 
RATCLIFFE.     Sir  Hubert  Lisle,  sir,  ridden 

furiously. 

MARDYKE.      [Rising.]      Lisle,    our     com- 
mander:  his  the  casting  vote. 

\_They  all  rise. 

FINCH.     On    him   alone    the   burden   and 
the  issue. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  31 

Enter    LISLE,  spurred,    and  spattered   with 
mud.     MARDYKE   advancing,  LISLE    takes 
him   by  the  hand,  and  they  stand  looking 
at  each  other  for  an  instant 
LISLE.     God    save   you,    sirs,    what   busi- 
ness of  the  camp 
Presses;  what  labour  from  the  Lord  awaits 

me? 

MARDYKE.     [Motioning  LISLE  to  head  of 
table.^\      This     on     the    instant    then : 
Lieutenant  Joyce, 
Of    this   God's   army,  charged  with   carnal 

crime 

In  that  he  hath  enforced  the  innocent 
And    brought    a   young    maid    into    public 
shame. 


32  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

This    he    denies    not.      Now    three    voices 

here 

Cry  that  we  purge  this  holy  host  of  him, 
So  satisfied ;  and  three  that  he  shall  die. 
With  thee  the  casting  vote.  The  Lord 

speak  through  thee. 
LISLE.     [Rising."]     Sirs,    in    no    common 

quarrel  are  we  up, 

Nor  to  a  slight  fray  have  we  girded  us, 
But  are  embattled  for  dear  liberty, 
Dear  liberty  to  righteousness  affianced, 
That  each  man   on   our  English  soil  hence- 
forth 

Shall  live  his  own  life  out  beneath  the  sun, 
Master    of    his    own    conscience,    his    own 
soul, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  33 

And  answerable  only  to  his  God : 
For  this  and  no  less  thing  rise  we  in  arms. 
For  this  the  noble  hath  disdained  his  ease, 
For  this  the  gentleman  forsworn  his  hearth, 
For    this    the   yeoman    left    his   glebe    un- 

ploughed, 
For   this    doth   brother   clash  with   brother, 

friend 
With  friend,    and   father    smiteth    his    own 

son: 
For    this    have   we   preferred,    rather    than 

reap 

A  servile  tilth,  to  trample  the  sown  field 
And  springing  pasture  to  incarnadine. 
But    vain    the    father's    and    the    brother's 

blood, 
c 


34  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Pasture  ensanguined  and  abandoned  hearth, 
And  worse  than  vain  our  liberty  at  last, 
If  we  have  builded  it  with  hands  defiled, 

[Murmurs  of  admiration. 
Therefore  I  show  no  mercy  on  this  man. 
Death  !     Let  him  die. 

MARDYKE.     Bring  in  Lieutenant  Joyce. 

Enter  JOYCE,  guarded 
LISLE.     Lieutenant,  for   the  sake  of  that 

high  cause 
For   which    we    are    embattled,   and   which 

thou 
Hast    stained,     I    sentence    thee    forthwith 

to  death. 
JOYCE.     Death ! 
LISLE.     To  a  soldier  'tis  a  little  thing. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  35 

JOYCE.     I  do  not  count  death  as   a  little 

thing. 

I  cannot  go  out  of  the  warm  sunshine 
Easily;   yet  I  am  a  gentleman 
And  I  can  die. 

LISLE.  Hast  anything  to  say? 

JOYCE.     Thou  who  so  lightly  dealest  death 

to  me, 

Be  thou  then  very  sure  of  thine  own  soul ! 
LISLE.     I  fear  not  that;   and   less   do   I 
fear  death. 

[LISLE  dismisses  JOYCE   and  guards. 
[Drawing  his  sword. ~\     And  judge  me,  Thou 

that  sittest  in  Thy  heaven, 
As    I    have    shown    no    mercy,    show    me 
none ! 


36  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Deal  Thou  to  me  what  I  have  dealt  to  him. 
Nay,  more;    not   the    mere    death   that   he 

shall  die, 
Strike    at   the    heart,   the    hope,  the    home 

of  me, 

If  ever  a  woman's  beauty  shall  ensnare 
My  soul  unto  such  sin  as  he  hath  sinned. 
[MIRIAM    has    entered    with  wine   and 
stands  waiting.    LISLE,  lowering  his 
sword,   sees    her    before    him    and 
stands  motionless. 

MARDYKE.     Sir    PJubert   Lisle,   my  wife! 
To  her  I  leave  you. 
[Exit   MARDYKE    and   others.     MIRIAM 
pours  out  wine  and  proffers  LISLE 
the  cup. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  37 

LISLE.     [Taking    cup.'}      Lady,    I    thank 

you,    and  must  ask  your  pardon 
For  breaking  in  on  you  so  suddenly 
And  so  disordered  —  I  would  say  —  but  you, 
You  are  not  of  our  country? 

MIRIAM.  No,  of  France, 

And    I    was   born   in   the    sun's    lap  —  will 

you 
Not  rest  awhile? 

[She  moves  as  if  to  condttct  hint. 
LISLE.     [Hesitating.]     You   are   then   of 

that  land 
Where  flows  the  crimson  wine  that  now  1 

drink? 
Is't  not  so  ? 

MIRIAM.       Even  so. 


38  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

LISLE.      [Holding  up  the  wine.']     And  in 

such  glory 

Have  you  fared  hither  to  us  over  sea. 
MIRIAM.      Will    you    not    rest  ?     [Again 

moving.  ] 
LISLE.     [Going,  then  again  hesitating J\     I 

thank  you. 

MIRIAM.  See  —  this  way. 

LISLE.     And  you  —  how  long  since   is   it 

that  you  left 
Your  southern  vines  ? 

MIRIAM.  I  came  here  as  a  child; 

My  father  died  at  La  Rochelle. 
LISLE.  Alas ! 

MIRIAM.       Committing     me     to     Colonel 

Mardyke's  care, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  39 

Who  was  his  comrade  then. 

LISLE.  And  who  is  now 

Your  husband  ? 

» 
MIRIAM.  Yes.     Your  room,  sir, 

eastward  lies. 
LISLE.      I    will    come     with    you  —  and 

these  glimmering  fens, 

Do  they  not  pall  after  the  southern  glow  ? 
MIRIAM.     I  am  grown  used  to  them. 
LISLE.  And  yet  it  seems 

Strange   in    the  drear   fenland  to   light    on 

you. 
MIRIAM.     How   still  the   air  is :   scarcely 

can  one  breathe. 
A    storm    approaches — [Hesitating.]     Will 
this  war  soon  end? 


40  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

LISLE.       Not    till    we    triumph  —  or  — 

darker  it  grows. 
This    leads    us    to   the   garden  ?      See   how 

still 
That    poplar,     conscious     of    some     heavy 

fate! 
That    breathless     alder!       Like    to    guilty 

souls 
Against  a  coming  judgment. 

MIRIAM.      [Hesitating.']      Is   there    aught 
Wherein  I  still  can  serve  you? 

LISLE.      [Coming    toward   herJ]      No,    I 

thank  you. 
MIRIAM.       I     have     made    all    ready  — 

[Hesitates.] 
LISLE.  Every  bird  doth  cower. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  41 

MIRIAM.     {Going,  but  returning^      I  have 
laid   some   books   within   your   room  — 
you  read 
Much  —  so  they  say  —  I  thought  —  how  the 

air  faints 
As      though      beneath     some     suffocating 

clutch ! 
LISLE.     Darker  and    darker   yet  —  what 

books  are  dear 
To  you? 

MIRIAM.     Old  histories. 
LISLE.  That  mandolin  - 

You  touch  it  in  the  twilight? 

MIRIAM.  Not  with  art. 

How   the   air  sighed   then!     Nearer  comes 
the  srorm ; 


42  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

A    moment    and    '  twill     break     above    our 

heads. 

LISLE.      {Coming    close    to    her.'}     Sweet 
after  battle  must  thy  music  be. 
\_A    sudden    sound   of  musketry    heard 

without. 
MIRIAM.     What    sound    was    that?     That 

was  no  thunder-peal. 
LISLE.     Lieutenant  Joyce   of    this    God's 

army,  shot 
By  my  command ! 

MIRIAM.  What    crime    hath    he 

committed 

That  you  take  on  you  God's  prerogative 
Of  death  ? 

LISLE.     How  can  I  name  it  to  you !    He 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  43 

Hath  sinned  against  a  maid. 

MIRIAM.  But  such  a  doom  ! 

LISLE.     No   doom    too    harsh !      In   this 

our  virgin  cause 
We  of  that  sin  must  purify  us  —  thus. 

[LISLE  bows  to  MIRIAM,  who  goes  off 
slowly  and  trembling.  LISLE 
starts  to  follow  her,  but  controls 
himself  with  effort.  He  goes 
slowly  to  back,  and  as  he  stands 
looking  out,  a  low  mutter  of 
thunder  is  heard. 


ACT  II 


ACT  II 

TIME.  —  Three  weeks  later:   night. 

SCENE. —  The  same  as  Act  I.  MIRIAM  AND 
MARTHA  discovered,  MIRIAM  touching  man- 
dolin absently.  MARTHA  at  work  on  em- 
broidery, a  lamp  beside  her. 

MIRIAM.     [Sings  ^\ 

I 

Red  skies  above  a  level  land 

And  thoughts  of  thee ; 
Sinking  sun  on  reedy  strand, 

And  alder  tree. 
47 


;  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

II 

Only  the  heron  sailing  home, 

With  heavy  flight: 
Ocean  afar  in  silent  foam, 
And  coming  night. 

in 
Dwindling  day  and  drowsing  birds, 

O  my  child! 
Dimness  and  returning  herds, 

Memory  wild. 
MARTHA.     What  sorrow   of  the  gloaming 

dost  thou  sing  ? 

MIRIAM.     Of    some    bereaved    woman    in 
the  Fens. 

{Casting  aside   instrument  and  coming 
over  to  MARTHA. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  49 

O  Martha! 

MARTHA.     Well,    child  —  will    you     help 

me  here? 
These  eyes  begin  to  fail  in  lamp-light  now. 

MIRIAM.       [Kneeling      by      her.~]      Dear 
Martha ! 

MARTHA.     Ah  !  just  here  I  cannot  —  well, 
Weary  of  music  ? 

MIRIAM.  Let  me  lay  my  head 

Here  in  thy  lap  as  in  the  olden  days 
Then  when  I  was  a  child. 

MARTHA.  You'd  have  me  idle 

As  you  are,  —  there,  then  ! 

[Taking  her  face  in  her  hands. 

MIRIAM.  Was  I  a  bad  child, 

Martha  ? 


50  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

MARTHA.  Ah,  no !  but  headlong  ever  and 

rash. 

MIRIAM.    Cruel  ? 
MARTHA.    Not  with  intention. 
MIRIAM.  Ah,  but  still 

Of  others  too  regardless? 

MARTHA.  As  a  child  is. 

MIRIAM.    I   am   so    happy;    let    me   hide 

my  face 
Here. 

MARTHA.    If    so    happy,    child,    why    so 

afraid  ? 

MIRIAM.    No !  not  afraid. 
MARTHA.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  happy, 
That  shows  me  you  are  humbler,  that  your 

heart 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  51 

Is  tamed;  thence  only  cometh  happiness. 
MIRIAM.  [Looking  up.~]    I  am  not  tamed ! 
MARTHA.       Well  —  more  at  rest  then. 
MIRIAM.  Rest ! 

MARTHA.    Now  you  are   weeping.     Who 

shall  guess  your  soul, 
Miriam  ?      So    happy   now,   and   now    wild 

tears. 
MIRIAM.   You   know,  you  know,  I   would 

not  hurt  you,  no, 

Nor  —  him,  not  willingly  —  never  was  cruel. 
MARTHA.   You   say  you  would   not    hurt 

me  nor  — 

MIRIAM.  Your  brother. 

MARTHA.   Your  husband. 
MIRIAM.    No  —  not  willingly  —  and  yet  — 


52  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

MARTHA.   What  would  you  say  ? 
MIRIAM.          Nothing.     I  know  not  what. 
\_She    again    takes    up    mandolin,    then 
casts  it  down,  coming  to   MARTHA 
again. 
Martha,    dear    Martha,   why    are    you    not 

kind  ? 

MARTHA.  Kind  !  you  to  say  I  am  not  kind. 
MIRIAM.    O,  kind  — 

But  —  but  you  love  me  deeply,  do  you  not  ? 
MARTHA.   What  need  to  ask? 
MIRIAM.  Whate'er  I  did,  me,  me 

You  love  ? 

MARTHA.   I    fear    so;    but    you    will    do 

nothing 
I  could  not  also  love. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  53 

MIRIAM.  I  cannot  tell. 

{Then  suddenly. ~\  Come,  give  me  both  your 

hands.     I  hold  you  fast  — 
You  cannot  fly  —  look  not  on  me.      I  fear, 
I  fear  to  be  alone  with  him  —  the  stranger, 
Within  our  gates  —  cast  me   not  from  you 

yet! 
MARTHA.     [Rising.'}    If   this  be  true,   it 

is   a  deadly  sin ! 
The    blackest  —  to    your    knees    and    seek 

your   God. 
But  I'll  not  think  it,  cannot  imagine,  dream 

it. 

Tis  folly,  the  fruit   of   too   much    idleness. 
But  hearken,   Miriam !    though    it    be    but 

folly, 


54  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

It   must    be   plucked    from   out   you,    flung 

away, 

Else  I  will  seek  my  brother  out,  I  am 
His  faithful   friend  —  but   'tis   unthinkable  ! 

Enter  MARDYKE,  hurriedly,  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand,  accompanied  by  RATCLIFFE 

MARDYKE.      [To    RATCLIFFE.]      Summon 
the  council  hither,  on  the  instant ! 

\Exit  RATCLIFFE. 
[Turning    to    MIRIAM.]      Idle  —  still    idle! 

and  in  time  of  war! 
A    night    of     peril!    yet    the    strings     are 

heard. 

Mistress,    bestir    you !     To   your  household 
tasks, 


THE   SIN   OF  DA  VID  55 

And    make    this    dwelling    ready    for    the 

night ! 

And  then  to  bed !  else  will  I  lock  you  up  : 
Provide  you  bread  to  eat,  water  to  drink. 
I'll  starve  this  fiend  of  indolence  out  of  you. 
MARTHA.     Brother,  you  speak  not  wisely. 

MARDYKE.  Ah,  do  you 

Sustain  her? 

MARTHA.     'Tis  not  wise  to  use  her  thus; 
I  tell   you,  'tis   not   wise;   such    roughness 

makes 
All  women  desperate. 

MARDYKE.  Wisdom  from  women  ! 

MARTHA.     You  would  not  have  your  way 

with  me  thus  —  nor 
Will  you  with  her  —  your  wife. 


56  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

MARDYKE.  Leave  us  together. 

\_Exit  MARTHA. 
That   which    I    spoke,    I    spoke    it    not   in 

jest. 
I   who   have   warred,  and   still   do  war   for 

God, 

Will  keep  a  diligent  wife,  a  quiet  house, 
Still  and   severe    as    fits   our  sacred  cause. 
You  hear  me  ? 

MIRIAM.      Sir,     you     hurt     my    wrist  — 

forbear. 

MARDYKE.     Remember !     To  your   duties 
—  then  to  bed! 

{Exit  MIRIAM. 
Meanwhile  the  officers  enter 
How  long,  sirs,  must  we  tarry  idle  here  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  57 

On   all  sides  are  we  hemmed;  where  shall 

we  strike? 

IRON.     Where  is  Sir  Hubert  Lisle  ? 
MARDYKE.  Shut  in  his  room. 

IRON.     The  peril  gathers,  yet  that  vacant 
chair ! 

[Murmurs  from  officers. 
Sirs,  I  will  speak  no  treason,  yet  we  marvel 
Why  thus  we  are  hemmed  in  idle.  I  will 

voice 

The  general  fear;   he  who  should  lead  us, 
faints. 

[Murmurs  of  assent. 

Who   captains   us?     One,   dazed   and   dubi- 
ous. 
Sir  Hubert  Lisle  is  fallen  into  a  trance. 


58  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

What    purpose    hath     he,    what    direction, 
torn 

This    way    and     that,    hither    and    thither 
blown  ? 

Now     he     commands,     anon     he     counter- 
mands ; 

Now  is  he  hot  for  battle,  now  he  cools, 

This  man,  who  fell  amidst  us  like  a  brand. 

And  all  the  night  he  paces  to  and  fro, 

Murmuring     and     wrestling     as    with     one 
unseen. 

What   curse   lies   heavy   on    him,   or   what 
spell  ? 

Now    let     him     wake,    or    be    some    other 
chosen. 

\_Murmurs. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  59 

MARDYKE.     Lift  we  a  prayer  that  heaven 

restore  his  mind. 
IRON.      Yet,    while  we    pray,    is    Rupert 

thundering  down. 
Enter  LISLE,    dreamily,    with    roses   in  his 

dress 
LISLE.     Forgive,    I    pray   you,   sirs,   this 

tardiness. 

Sirs,  you  all  frown  on  me  and  stare  distrust. 
I  have  fallen  into  a  lethargy  of  spirit 
Which    even    now     is    passing    from    me. 

Friends, 
Let  me  not  lose  your  faith. 

MARDYKE.  Sir,  we  but  ask 

Some  guiding   from  you,  and  some  certain 
light. 


60  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Darker    our    fortunes    grow,    on    all    sides 

pressed, 
And   threatened    north   and   west.      Where 

shall  we  strike  ? 
IRON.     I  say,  take  water  northward  and 

relieve 
Fairfax  in  Hull. 

MARDYKE.  Or  threaten  suddenly 

Newark,  where  now  are  horsemen   swarm- 
ing thick 
Upon  our  flank. 

CRABLOVE.         And,  sir,  still  Willoughby 
In  vain  beleaguers  Castle  Bolingbroke. 
MARDYKE.     Quick  flies  the  night.     Shall 

we  aid  Willoughby? 
Or  hurl  a  force  on   Newark,  or  free  Hull? 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  61 

LISLE.     [Hesitatingly. ,]      To  me  it  seems 
'twere  wiser  here  to  bide, 

[Murmurs. 

Holding  the  Whitton  and  the  Welland  line, 
Breaking  the   foe   with   bog   and  with   mo- 
rass; 

Here  let  us  lie,  alert,  but  not  o'er-hot. 
We  have  much  need  of  discipline  severe, 
Patience  and  quiet  rule  and  still  debate, 
Till  each  man  shall  attain  self-mastery. 
Now  leave  me,  sirs ;  for  I  must  meditate, 
And  wrestle  in  spirit  lest  I  be  overcome. 
[Exeunt    officers,  sullenly  shaking  their 

heads. 

MARDYKE.      [Rising.']     I    will   go   up   to 
the  turret-room,  and  mark 


62  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

If,  in   God's   book,    some   chapter   or   some 

verse 

May  give  us  warning  in  our  present  need. 

[MARDYKE,  unlocking  case,  takes   down 

Bible,   and  ascends    to    tower   witJi 

lighted  candle.     LISLE  sits  plunged 

in  gloomy   revery   and  studying  a 

map    distractedly.      MIRIAM   passes 

across     the     stage    hurriedly,    with 

keys  at  her  girdle.     LISLE,    seeing 

her,   comes  forward. 

LISLE.     Lady,   will    you    not    touch    the 

strings  again? 

With  music  lift  from  me  this  heaviness  ? 
MIRIAM.     I   may  not,  sir.     I   am  accused 
of  sloth, 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  63 

And  must  about  the  business  of  the  house. 
Here  are  my  keys. 

LISLE.      [Seeing   her    wrist. ~\      See,    you 

have  hurt  your  wrist. 

• 
MIRIAM.     'Tis  nothing. 

LISLE.     But  'tis  bruised  as  by  a  blow! 
Miriam  !  —  my  heart  spoke  then.     This  burn- 
ing silence, 

Secret  eye  lightnings,  and  deep  mutual  sighs, 
And  darting  comprehensions  of  swift  thought, 
Must  break  in  words  at  last. 

MIRIAM.     [Trembling.]     I    will    not    hear 

them. 
LISLE.     Hear    them !    and    then   do   with 

me  what  you  will. 
When  I  spurred  hither,  all  on  fire  for  God, 


64  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Then  did  I  gallop  into  human  flame. 

Cold  I  had  lived,  pure,  narrow,  temperate, 

A  girded  swordsman  pressing  to  the  mark. 

So  rode  I  through  that  gate.  Then  sud- 
denly 

Thy  beauty  like  a  tempest  fell  on  me; 

And  in  one  moment  was  I  rent  and  riven. 

Stunned  is  my  life ;    I  wander,  and  I  grope. 

My  voice  in  the  council  falters ;   in  mid-act 

This  lifted  arm  falls  at  thy  floating  face. 

They  waver  like  to  mist  the  ranks  of  war, 

They  waver  and  fade;  he  fades,  the  armed 
man, 

And  spurring  armies  in  a  vision  clash. 

Or  would  I  pray  and  upward  fling  my 
hands  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  65 

To  thee   I   pray,  thee,  thee,  with   cries  be- 
seeching. 

I  am  lost,  lost! 

MIRIAM.  O,  I  would  be  to  thee 

As  gentle  as  the  grass  above  the  dead; 

And    have    I    been    but    darkness,    and    a 

sword  ? 

LISLE.       No!    for    a    revelation    breaks 
from  thee. 

Thou  hast  unlocked  the  loveliness  of  earth, 

Leading    me    through    thy    beauty    to    all 
beauty. 

Thou  hast  admitted  me  to  mystery, 

Taught   me    the    different   souls  of  all  the 
stars ; 

Through  thee  have  I  inherited  this  air, 


66  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Discovered  sudden  riches  at  my  feet, 

And  now  on   eyes   long  blinded  flames  the 

world. 
Thou    shattering   storm,  thou    eve    of   after 

blue, 
Thou   deluge,  and   thou  world  from  deluge 

risen, 
Thou    sudden    death,    and    thou    life    after 

death ! 

\_A  pause  while  she  stands  trembling. 
You    speak    not.     Give    me   but    a    human 

word. 
s  \      MIRIAM.     O,  all  my  life  has  listened  for 

thy  step! 
LISLE.     How   have    I    walked    in     glory 

unaware ! 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D  67 

O,   let  your   dear   soul  forth;    stay    it    not 

now! 
MIRIAM.     For    thee    alone    came    I    into 

this  world, 

For  thee  this  very  hair  grew  glorious, 
My     eyes     are     of     this     colour     for    thy 

sake. 

This  moment  is  a  deep  inheriting, 
And  as  the  solemn  coming  to  a  kingdom. 
LISLE.     Apart    we    two    did    wander   in- 
land ;   now 

Listen,  the  ocean  of  infinity ! 
Life  hath  no  more  in  it. 

MIRIAM.     \_Lying  in  his  arms.']     My  final 

peace ! 
LISLE.     Peace  ? 


68  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

MIRIAM.  Doth  the  word  seem  cold? 

A  woman's  peace, 

It  hath  all  fire  in  it,  and  burneth  white. 
LISLE.      Peace!      Is    there    peace    while 

all  — 

MIRIAM.     Wake  me  not  yet, 
Not  for  this  moment! 

LISLE.  While  this  dreaming  love 

Gives  you  the   language    of   a   child    or    a 

bird, 
Of  a  light  and  liquid  rapture. 

MIRIAM.  Speak  not  yet 

Too  human  and  too  grave. 

LISLE.  Yet  every  way 

I     look    is    darkness ;     for    each    moment 
war 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  69 

May  call  me  off. 

MIRIAM.  Peer  not  into  the  dark. 

LISLE.     Else  will  it  swallow  us.     O  sud- 
denly 
We  two  must  hew  us  out  a  path. 

MIRIAM.  Disturb  not 

This  hush  and   church  of   passion  with  the 

world ! 

LISLE.     How  thy   speech  wantons,  while 
I  stare  at  life! 

MIRIAM.     Hush!    I  am  lifted  even  above 

i 

hope! 

LISLE.     He,  he  — 
MIRIAM.  Thou  hast  my  spirit, 

be  content. 
O,  all  that  in  me  wanders  and  is  wild 


70  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Gathers    into    one    wave     that    breaks     on 

thee! 
LISLE.     And    I    must   bide,  till    this   full 

beauty  drop 

Which  even  divinity  did  flush  to  dream. 
Thou  witherest  like  a  virgin  at  his  side. 

[A  sudden  trumpet.     They  start  apart. 

MIRIAM.     Hark ! 

LISLE.  Tidings  from  the  camp  ! 

MIRIAM.  I'll  leave  you,  then. 

[Sound  of  hurried  steps. 

LISLE.     Some  business  easily  despatched  ! 

MIRIAM.  I'll  walk 

Here,  on  the  terrace,  till  you  shall  decide 
This  petty  business. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  71 

Enter    soldier,    with   letter,    accompanied  by 

FINCH 

LISLE.  A  brief  "  Yes  "  or  "  No." 

{Exit   MIRIAM.     LISLE  takes  letter  and 

reads  it  silently. 
Ah! 
FINCH.   You   are    stricken,   sir ;    lean    on 

this   arm. 

LISLE.    No !    but    stand   by ;    this   matter 
presses.     Go ! 

[Exit  soldier  and  FINCH. 

[Reading  aloud. 

"To   SIR   HUBERT    LISLE,   Commander: 

"  The  Castle  of  Bolingbroke  still  bays  all 
attack.     Those   whom    I    have   with  me  are 


72  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

too  few :  the  breach  I  have  made  too 
slight.  Another  day  and  relief  bursts  upon 
us  from  Newark. 

"There  is  no  way  but  by  sudden  on- 
slaught, and  that  by  daybreak.  Who  then 
shall  lead  this  ?  Whom  hast  thou  in  the 
army  of  such  desperate  valour,  that,  in 
scorn  of  life,  he  will  adventure  ?  For  he 
who  shall  lead  such  onslaught,  may  already 
count  himself  as  dead.  Yet,  on  this 
hazard,  stand  our  fortunes  in  this  region. 
Hast  thou  a  man  of  such  fiery  zeal  that 
others  follow  him?  Then,  send  him 
quickly.  Let  him  know  what  peril  awaits 
him;  but  yet  that  on  his  peril  hang  our 
hopes. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  73 

"  Knowing  well  thine  own  spirit,  I  entreat 
that  thou  thyself  shalt  not  so  adventure ; 
for  thy  life  is  of  the  worth  of  many  cities. 
Speed !  Speed ! 

"  WlLLOUGHBY." 

[LiSLE    sits    down   and    spreads    letter 
before  him  under  lamp. 

And    why    should    I    not    send  —  him? 

He   is  ripe 

With  such  experience  as  none  other  hath 
In    breaches    and    in    onslaughts    both    in 

France 

And  in  the  foreign  f enland ;  he,  I  say, 
Of  all  the  host  is  the  one  only  man, 
The  apparent  instrument.     I  do  but  send 


74  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Him    whom    the    peril    asks,  by    man    un- 

blamed. 
With   God   how   stand   I  ?      Vain   to   palter 

there. 
I'd   have   the   husband    dead   that   I   might 

clasp 
The    wife    secure.       If    then     behind    the 

deed 
The  mind  can   murder,  and   the  heart  can 

kill; 
Then   this   mere   silent    wish,   born   of    the 

brain, 

Might  instantly  start  up  a  living  thing 
And  able,  without  hands,  to   strike? 
What  were  I  better  than  the  lurking  thief, 
Or   hired    assassin    stealing   from   behind, 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  75 

To     stab    him    in    the    back  ?       He    shall 

not  go. 
Let    him    succumb   to    the    slow    hour,    or 

drop 
By     sudden     death-shot     in     mid-battle,    or 

sink 

In  casual  fever — I'll  not  do  this  thing. 
Rather    myself    will   go;     leave    pure    this 

house, 

And  hurl   this   lured  soul  upon  the  breach. 
\He  starts  to  go   when    MIRIAM   enters 
softly,  behind,  from  moonlit   terrace. 
MIRIAM.    Hast  thou  despatched? 
LISLE.  Ah,  thou  ? 

MIRIAM.  Hast  thou  not  yet 

Determined  ? 


76  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

LISLE.    [Hesitating  as   he  gazes  at  her.~\ 

No,  not  yet;  there's  more  in  this 
Than  I  had  looked  for. 

MIRIAM.  [Stretching  out  her  arms  for  letter.'] 

May  I  read  it?     Oft, 

A  woman's   mind  is   lightning,  where   men 
grope. 

[LISLE  refuses  to  give  letter  to  her. 
So  weighty  is  it? 

LISLE.  Even  with  life  and  death. 

Nay,  more :  who  knows  ?  with  all  eternity. 
MIRIAM.  [Quickly. ~\  Not  perilous  to  thee  ? 
LISLE.  Perhaps  !     Away  ! 

Thy  moonlight  loveliness  disturbs  me. 

MIRIAM.  Words 

To  make  me  stay ;   but,  yet,  I  will  not.      I 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  77 

Am    heavy    with    the    treasure    thou     hast 

given  me, 

And  I  will  steal  within  and  spread  it  out. 
I  long  to  lock  me  in  and  be  alone 
With  these  new  riches  in  the  dimness. 

LISLE.  Ah ! 

Come  back. 

MIRIAM.  [Laughing  softly. ~\  I  shall  disturb 
thee. 

LISLE.         Yet  stay  on. 
Can   you   not   hear  Time   rushing  past  our 

ears, 
With  audible,  irreparable  flight? 

MIRIAM.  \Gazing  outward  and  sighing.~\ 
How  e'en  the  Fenland  hath  grown  fairyland 
And  all  these  levels  gleam  as  passionate 


78  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

As  the  high  gardens  of  Assyrian  kings. 
I     shall    not    sleep  —  I    cannot    tell     thee 
why  — 

[Leaning  toward  him. 
Oh,  thou  dost  know !     Good  night ! 

LISLE.  Thou  shalt  not  go. 

Thy  hair   hath   slipped,  and  showers  round 

thee.     Now, 

I  hold   thee  all  dishevelled  in  the  moon ; 
I  cannot  clasp  thy  spirit ;  thee,  I  ask, 
Thus  in  thy  glorious  body  —  thee ! 

MIRIAM.  I  tremble. 

LISLE.   That  smile   hath  made  a   mist  of 

all  the  world. 

MIRIAM.  [Starting  from  him.~\  Listen,  one 
cometh  on  us. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  79 

LISLE.  Who? 

MIRIAM.  Alas ! 

\Jtushes  from  him. 

LISLE.  [Coming  wildly  down  from  ter- 
race into  the  room,  sees  the  letter  and 
snatches  it  up.  Steps  are  heard,  and 
MARDYKE  is  seen  slowly  descending  the 
stairs.  Meanwhile  the  moon  is  clouded, 
and  a  light  rain  begins  to  fall .]  Old 
man,  within  this  moment  hast  thou  died. 
Enter  MARDYKE,  with  Bible,  which  he  lays 

on  table. 
MARDYKE.      It    seemed,    a    while    since, 

that   a   trumpet   blew; 

Still,   by   the   book    I    sat;    but    have    not 
found 


8o  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Chapter  or  verse  that   lights    our    present 

need. 

What    tidings   from    the    camp,   what    sud- 
den  word? 
LISLE.      Prepare    to    spur    at    once    to 

Bolingbroke. 

MARDYKE.     Now  on   the   instant  ? 
LISLE.  On   the  instant.     Thou 

Art    needed    there.      Grave    conference    is 

held. 

Thy  famed   experience   in   foreign   siege 
The   general  asks.     Thee  only   can  I  send. 
MARDYKE.     The  moon   is   quenched;   yet 

lighten  Thou  this  dark. 
Thou  great  Taskmaster,  if  unto  Thy  service 
Me  Thou  hast  called,  I  go  and  murmur  not. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  V1D  81 

LISLE.     Arm    thee   and    quickly,  ere  the 

blinded   dawn 
Peer      on      the      drizzling      levels.      Fast ! 

Away! 
MARDYKE.     With    joy    I    go.      I    thank 

Thee,   O   my   Lord, 

That  Thou  hast  not  discarded  me  as  old, 
A    cumberer    of     the    ground,    a    lopped 

branch, 
But  Thou  hast   service  still  for  these  grey 

hairs. 
Light  though   the  task,  I'll  kindle   it   with 

fire. 
Restore   to   these  old  bones   and    cramped 

limbs 
Speed  and  the  ancient  strength  of  other  days 


82  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Then    when    I    battled    and    bled     at    La 

Rochelle. 
Ratcliffe!    at    once    my    armour,    and     my 

horse. 

[Exit  MARDYKE. 

LISLE.  [Taking  pen  and  writing. ~\  "I 
send  you  the  man  fitted  for  our  purpose ; 
of  mighty  zeal  and  valour,  and  one  that 
can  enkindle  others  to  a  hazard.  Let 
him,  then,  lead  this  assault.  He  knoweth 
his  own  peril  and  wherefore  he  is  sent. 
He  himself  beareth  this  letter.  He 
bringeth  his  life  in  his  hand.  Send  me 
swift  news  of  the  assault  —  and  of  him." 

[  Voices   are    heard,   and  the    sound  of 
running     to     and     fro.       Reenter 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  83 

MARDYKE,  half-armed,  with  RAT- 
CLIFFE,  who  hastily  helps  him  to 
finish  his  arming. 

MARDYKE.     [To     RATCLIFFE.]        Buckle 

me  closer  there ;  and,  here,  more  room. 

RATCLIFFE.     Thy  back  lies  open  here! 

MARDYKE.  In  such  a  cause 

I    fear    no    stab    in   the    back;    the    front 

is   all. 
LISLE.         Here    is    a    letter:    into    Wil- 

loughby's  hand 
Deliver  it. 

MARDYKE.     Shall  I  be  long  from   home? 
LISLE.     I  think    not  —  till    to-morrow    at 
sunset. 
Reenter  MIRIAM  from  the  other  side 


84  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

MIRIAM.     Whither    so    suddenly,    in    the 

dead  night  ? 
LISLE.    Your  husband   summoned  to  the 

camp,  straightway. 
MARDYKE.     Our  officers  hold  conference; 

no  more, 
My    voice    is     needed  ;     prattle    not  —  to 

bed! 
Woman  hath  no  concern  in  this. 

MIRIAM.  But  when 

Shall  you  return  ? 

MARDYKE.  To-morrow,  by  sunset. 

[LISLE    goes    out  on    terrace.     MIRIAM 
watches     MARDYKE    finishing    his 
arming. 
My   sword,   now! 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  85 

Enter  SERVANT,  hurriedly 
SERVANT.  Sir,  the  horse  stands. 

MIRIAM.     \To  MARDYKE,  who  goes  to  the 

door.~\     Sir,  good-night! 
MARDYKE.      There,    then  —  [Kisses    her 
on  forehead. ~\      Such    joy    have    I    in 
buckling   me 

Again  in  armour,  all  things  I  forget; 
Suddenly  wife   and    home    are    gone   from 
me. 

[MIRIAM  goes  from  him  to  the  door. 
Good-night,  Sir  Hubert.     Peace  be  on   this 

house ! 
LISLE.     [Coming  downJ\     Sir,  shall  I  go 

in  place  of  thee?     Tis  not 
Too  late ! 


86  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

MARDYKE.     Have    I    not    prayed?     The 
Lord  hath  chosen. 

[Exit  MARDYKE  with  RATCLIFFE. 
LISLE  goes  out  on  terrace  —  sound 
of  hoofs  galloping  away  into  the 
night.  A  cold  glimmer  of  dawn 
appears  far  off. 
MIRIAM.  When  doth  the  conference 

end? 

LISLE.  To-morrow ! 

MIRIAM.  Then, 

A    little    while    is    ours.      So    cold?      But 

now  — 
LISLE.      A    moment,   Miriam !      I     must 

think  alone. 
I  am  sore  troubled. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  87 

MIRIAM.  Kiss  me  —  I  will  go. 

[LISLE    makes   movement  as  though  to 

embrace  her,  but  cannot. 
Am  I  despised,  then,  that  I  could  not  hide 
What  burned  in  me  ?     I  should  have  fenced 

and  fenced 
And  so  had  reverence  —  you  despise  me? 

LISLE.  Ah ! 

The  starkness  of  the  dawn  is  at  my  heart. 
MIRIAM.     O,   how    I    scorn   myself  —  and 
yet  —  [Putting  her  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der and  looking   in  his  face."]     Good- 
night ! 

[Exit  MIRIAM. 

LISLE.     I   ne'er  did   love    thee    so    as  at 
this  moment. 


88  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

As  he  turns,  enter  RATCLIFFE 
Who's  there? 

RATCLIFFE.     I,  sir. 
LISLE.  Well,  well? 

RATCLIFFE.  The  holy  Book! 

I  come  to  lock  it  safe.     Each  night  it  is 
My  master's  custom.    Or,  I'll  leave  it  thus; 
If  haply  you  would  seek  in  it  some  verse 
To  light  our  present  trouble. 

LISLE.  Leave  it,  then  ! 

\JExit  RATCLIFFE.     A   sallow  gleam  of 

dawn  falls  on  the   Book,  as  LISLE 

opens  and  reads;    and    the    sound 

of  galloping    hoofs   is    borne    back 

once  more  on  the  wind. 

"And  it  came   to   pass    in   the   morning, 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  89 

that  David  wrote  a  letter  to  Joab,  and 
sent  it  by  the  hand  of  Uriah.  And  he 
wrote  in  the  letter,  saying,  Set  ye  Uriah 
in  the  forefront  of  the  hottest  battle,  and 
retire  ye  from  him,  that  he  may  be 
smitten,  and  die. 

"And  the  men  of  the  city  went  out 
and  fought  with  Joab  :  and  there  fell  some 
of  the  people  of  the  servants  of  David ; 
and  Uriah  the  Hittite  died  also." 

[A  faint  sound  of  galloping  hoofs    is 
again  heard,  and  then  ceases. 


ACT  III 


ACT  III 

TIME.  —  Five  years  later. 

SCENE.  —  A  room  in  a  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  of  Wake  fie  Id.  At 
back  a  window  looks  out  on  the  open 
country.  On  its  right  a  door  communi- 
cates with  the  outer  courtyard ;  on  the 
left  another  opens  into  the  sleeping  rooms 
of  the  house.  LISLE  discovered,  seated, 
with  papers  before  him;  on  one  side 
RATCLIFFE,  on  the  other  two  officers 

in  attendance. 

93 


94  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

LISLE.     Old    Ratcliffe,   ask    my   wife    to 

come  to  me. 
Stay!     She   was   hushing   up   the    child  to 

sleep, 

Low  singing  over  him ;  say   will   she   come 
If  he  is  sleeping  now. 

[Exit  RATCLIFFE. 

Sirs,  we  have  seen 

Three  years  of  seeming  peace;   yet  here  I 

hold 

Letters  in  Fairfax*  hand ;   he  apprehends 
Jn  Kent  and  Essex  disaffection ;  speaks 
Of  imminent   trouble.     What   of   Wakefield 

then 

And  all  this  region ;  see  you  any  cause 
Here  for  disquiet  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  95 

OFFICER.          None,  sir,  save  from  bands 
Roaming  in  indolent  undiscipline, 
Hither  and  thither,  plundering  purposeless. 
LISLE.     No  smouldering  mischief  then? 
OFFICER.  None  visible. 

Enter  MIRIAM  with  child.     Officers  retire 
MIRIAM.      Hubert  —  he    will    not    sleep, 

but  must  put  on 
His    sword    and    strut    with    it.      Ah !    let 

him  stay. 
LISLE.     Well  —  well!   thy  sword   already 

girded  on, 
Yet,  '  sir,    they     tell    me     that     no    peril 

threatens. 

[70   MIRIAM.]     How    straight    he    stands! 
His  colour  too  not  bright 


96  THE   SIN  OF  DA  VI D 

Nor    dull;    but    with    a    blander    glow    of 

blood. 
I  think  that    he    hath    more    of    me    than 

thee. 

MIRIAM.     No,    Hubert,   no. 
LISLE.       His  eyes  !     Those  are  my  eyes. 
MIRIAM.     Only  in   colour!   but   that  way 

they  ope 

Wide   at  the   world,   that   is   all   mine. 
LISLE.  Perhaps. 

MIRIAM.     Then,   too,   his   mouth  ? 
LISLE.  Mine,  mine  in  every  curve, 

MIRIAM.     If  you  had  watched  him  smile 

as  close  as  I 

You  would  not  say   that;    all   his   smile   is 
mine. 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  97 

I  grant  that  when  he  frets,  his   mouth  will 

drop 
Like  to  his  father's. 

LISLE.  So!  from  thee  his  joy, 

From  me  his  sadness. 

MIRIAM.  Hubert,  no !  when  he 

Doth  sadden,  that   same   dimness   o'er   him 

comes 
As  upon  me. 

LISLE.  Will  you  claim  all  of  him  ? 

His  eyes,  his  mouth,  his  sad  hour   and   his 

bright  ? 
His    hair,   now,   see    that   curl    behind    the 

ear. 
Come,  you  must  yield  me  that. 

MIRIAM.  O,   that   perhaps. 

G 


98  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

LISLE.     Will  you  not   leave  me  any  part 

in   him  ? 
MIRIAM.      Oh,    yes!    his    cry    when    he 

would  fight  off  sleep. 
LISLE.     [Laughing.'}     Well,   well,   sweet, 

we  will  quarrel  over  him 
No    longer;    he    is    fair    and    strong     and 

bright. 
How    his   young    face    hath    mellowed   our 

first  passion, 

What  flamed  then  is  a  glow  more  beautiful. 
Yet  is  thy  love  of  me  not  less? 

MIRIAM.  How  —  less  ? 

LISLE.   The  former  fury  hath  gone  out  of  it, 
The    pulsing    life,    the    blinding    dance    of 
blood. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  99 

MIRIAM.       The     child     hath     brought     a 
tremble  into  it. 

I  am  grown  fearful  for  the  sake  of  him ; 

I  dread  the   rustle   of   angels   in  his   room. 
LISLE.      And   now   doth   he  divide   what 
once  was  mine 

Wholly. 

MIRIAM.     Ah,  no!   he  hath  enriched  that 
love. 

Once     did     it     live     upon     thy    look,     thy 
voice, 

Thy   strength,   thy    courage,   and   thy   con- 
queror soul, 

This     was     enough,     God     knows.        But, 
Hubert,  now 

We  two  together  to  behold  our  boy, 


ioo  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

That  we  have  reared  and  planted  sunward, 

grow, 
While  all   our   sighs   like   breezes   come  to 

him, 
And   all   our  tears   fall   down   on  him   like 

rain. 
I  thought  thou   never  couldst  be   more    to 

me  ; 

But  now  is  added  to  that  rapturous  fire 
Much  that  perhaps  of  men  is  not  esteemed, 
But  to  a  woman  meaneth  half  her  life. 
To  hold  our   sweet   night    council    o'er   his 

day, 

To  exchange  bright  understandings  silently 
At  little  words  of  his ;  to  bend,  we  two 
Over  him  dreaming  while  thy  hand  on  mine 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  101 

Tightens    a    moment ;     then    to    watch    to- 
gether 

Some  little  way  of  thee  or  me  appear 
Sudden  in  him ;  to  feel  our  daily  life 
Grow   solemn    at    his    voice:    to    see    our 

spirits, 
Close     though     they     met     in     kiss     and 

breathed  word, 

Visibly  here    commingled    and   made   flesh. 
LISLE.     Now  blows  the  future  sweet  into 

our  eyes, 
And  even  peril  treadeth  upon  grass. 

Enter  RATCLIFFE 

RATCLIFFE.     A    sudden   messenger    from 
Pomfret   ridden ! 

Enter  messenger,  hurriedly 


102  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

MESSENGER.     Sir,  all  the  country  around 

Pomfret  walls 

Is  risen  up ;  the  castle  is  cut  off : 
We  foraging  without,  found  no  return. 
They  signal  for  relief ;    and  one   even  now 
Behind  me  rideth  furiously,  I  fear 
Bringing  worse  news. 
LISLE.     \To  RATCLIFFE.]     Bid  Arlington 

prepare 

With  all  our  horsemen  instantly  to  spur 
To  Pomfret;  then  if  he  who  rides  behind 
Bear  us  worse  tidings,   I   myself  will   lead. 
\Exit  RATCLIFFE  with  messenger. 
MIRIAM.     \To  child,    who  falls   back    on 

her  s  ho  alder. ~\     Ah,  darling! 
LISLE.     How,  what  ails  the  child  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VI D  103 

MIRIAM.  There,  there, 

Is  thy  head  heavy  ?    On  my  bosom  then. 
LISLE.     Now,  Hubert,  little  Hubert,  draw 
thy  sword  ! 
[Child    attempts,    but   fails    to     draw 

sword. 
See  thus  !     [Drawing  his  own.'}     Not  even 

a   smile  !     Why  he  would   laugh 
And  leap  at  this  an  hour  since. 

MIRIAM.  He  is  heavy. 

Hush!  do  not  speak  to  him. 

LISLE.       [Bending     over     Aim.']       What 

dreams  I  have 
For  thee. 

MIRIAM.     What  dost  thou  dream  ? 
LISLE.  He  shall  be  tall 


104  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

MIRIAM.    No  taller  than  thyself. 

LISLE.  I'd  have  him  shoot 

Beyond  me  both  in  inches  and  in  deeds. 

MIRIAM.    A  soldier  ? 

LISLE.      No  !  when  he  shall  grow  a  man 
The   land   will  cry    for    rest.      I    see    him 

then 

A  healer  and  a  closer  up  of  wounds. 
His  task  shall  be  to  obliterate  and  soothe; 
To  bind,  not  break ;  to  mingle,  not  to  mar ; 
His  counsel  breathing  on  our  England  balm. 
This  labour  more  than  battle  asks  a  man. 

MIRIAM.    It  is  a  noble  dream. 

LISLE.  And  shall  come  true. 

Or  he  shall  build  in  new  lands  over  sea 
Some  virgin  commonwealth. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  105 

RATCLIFFE.   [Entering  hastily.']    A   horse- 
man,  sir, 
Spurred  sweating  to  the  gate. 

LISLE.  Summon  him  in! 

Enter  soldier,    breathlessly 
SOLDIER.     From    Pomfret,   sir,  where  we 

are  hard  beset. 
The   town   may  fall    each   moment,    totters 

now; 

And  only  in  the  sight  of  thee  is  hope. 

LISLE.   \To   MIRIAM.]   Dear,  I    must    go. 

\To  soldier^\    Tell  Colonel  Arlington 

That   I   myself  will  lead;   let  all  stand   by. 

Ratcliffe,  a  breastplate  and  a  helm  enough ! 

[RATCLIFFE  hastily  arms  him. 

Old  man,  why  do  thy  fingers    fumble  thus, 


io6  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

Or    have    thine    eyes    dimmed    suddenly  ? 

Apace ! 
RATCLIFFE.    O,  sir,  this  very  night-time, 

five  years  flown, 

Thus  armed  I  my  old  master,  when  he  fell 
By  Castle  Bolingbroke. 

LISLE.  This  very  night? 

RATCLIFFE.    This    night ;     when     I     did 

leave   the   holy  Book 
Unlocked  for  you  to  search  it. 

LISLE.  I  remember. 

RATCLIFFE.    Again    the    night    is     here! 

My  fingers  fumble 
About  the  straps  as  then.      Pray  God  this 

night 
May  not  see  dawn  like  that! 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  V1D  107 

LISLE.  Leave  me  —  enough. 

[Exit  RATCLIFFE. 
[Aside.']    I  sent  him  then  !     Now  I  myself 

must   go. 
MIRIAM.      [To  child,   with   whom   she    is 

walking    to    and  fro.~\    Now    thou   art 

hot,   now   cold. 

LISLE.  Art  thou,  dead  man, 

Urging  me  down  that  road  where  thee  I  sped? 
MIRIAM.      [Bringing    child     to     LISLE.] 

Hubert,   his   face! 
LISLE.     [Suddenly,  gazing  on  child.']    Or, 

or  —  give  me  the  child. 
MIRIAM.   What's  this? 
LISLE.     [To    child.']     Close,    close,   your 

arms  about  my  neck. 


io8  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

No  peril  visible  or  invisible 
Shall  touch  you   so  enfolded. 

MIRIAM.  Why  so  fearful — - 

So  on  a  sudden  ? 

LISLE.  Is  our  son  watch'd  o'er? 

Guarded  each  instant? 

MIRIAM.  Hubert ! 

LISLE.  Wife,  I  speak  not 

Of  common  perils,  but  —  of  the  approach 
Of  malice  superhuman.  Ah !  forgive  me. 
There  came  a  little  cloud  upon  my 

brain. 
Take     him     within ;     summon    the    doctor 

straight. 

He   is    ever   within   call.      Then   send   him 
here 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  109 

That  I  may  speak  with  him. 

[Kissing  child  and  looking  after  them. 

{Exit  MIRIAM  with  child. 

Why  on  this  night 

Doth     the    child     sicken     suddenly?      Ah, 

folly ! 

Childhood  is  quickly  sick  and  quickly  well. 

[A  pause. 

Or  do  the  dead  remember  still?     Perhaps 
The  spirit  of  the   murdered  fresh  in  wrath 
Leaps  out  upon  his  murderer,  but  in  vain, 
Baffled  by  loss  of  corporal  faculty. 
May  he  not  then  a  spirit  vengeance  seek, 
A   vengeance    not  of    hands,  and    learn    to 

blight 
And  cripple ;   and  perhaps  the  matin  chill 


no  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

Can  use,  and  all  the  fatal  airs  of  night, 
And  can  direct  the  wandering  malady 
Whither  he  will  ?     If  he  then  whom  I  slew 
Is  aiming  in  such  vengeance  at  the  child  ? 
Wilt    thou    revenge    thee    on    bright    curls 

and  cheeks, 

And   wilt    thou   lunge,  grey   swordsman,  at 
a  babe? 

Enter  doctor,  from  within 
Now,  doctor,  now!     How  is't  with  him? 

DOCTOR.  He  lies 

In  some  mysterious  languor,  and  my  art 
Reaches  him  not 

LISLE.  Is  then  the  malady 

To  human  healers  new? 

DOCTOR.  To  me  at  least 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  in 

LISLE.  Is  it  not  written  in  thy  cate- 
gory ? 

DOCTOR.  I  cannot  reach  the  seat  and 
fount  of  it. 

LISLE.  Stands  it  not  on  the  list,  the 
cause,  the  cure? 

DOCTOR.  Show  me  the  cause ;  then  will 
I  find  the  cure. 

LISLE.  What  symptom  hath  he?  Or 
what  certain  sign? 

DOCTOR.  No  spot  hath  he,  nor  fever 
rash;  yet  fever. 

LISLE.  Doth  he  cry  out?  or  lies  he 
silent  still? 

DOCTOR.  He  makes  no  cry,  yet  strug- 
gles as  he  lies. 


112  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

LISLE.     With  what  doth  the   child  strug- 
gle, how  beset? 

DOCTOR.     He    seems    to    fend    a    some- 
thing from  his  throat. 
LISLE.     [  With  a  cry.~\     Thou  dead  man, 

take  thy  fingers  from  his  throat; 
He  is  a  young  thing  and  a  little  —  ah ! 
Back  to  him,  doctor,  linger  not  —  yet  stay ; 
Think  you  that  heaven  doth  ever  intervene 
With  special    sickness,  and   for   some   rank 

fault 
In  us,  doth  strike  us  there  where  most  we 

love  ? 

DOCTOR.     'Tis  our  presumption  to  imag- 
ine it 
We  fancy  those  regardless-rolling  orbs, 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  113 

Themselves  inhabited,  tremendous  worlds, 
Night-lights  to  reassure  us  in  the  dark. 
We  colour  with  our  trespasses  the  eclipse, 
And  hear  paternal  anger  in  the  storm ; 
Impute    to    sickness    wrath,    vengeance    to 

death, 

And  memory  to  unrecording  Nature. 
LISLE.     Perhaps  —  back  to  his  bed. 
DOCTOR.  What  man  can  do 

I'll  do. 

\Exit  doctor. 
LISLE.       {With     uplifted     hands.'}       O, 

Thou  that  sittest  in  Thy  heavens, 
Mine  was   the    sin;    be    mine   the    punish- 
ment, 
But  let  him  live.     End  me  with  lightning,  or 

H 


H4  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

In  fever   let   me   burn  down   to   the  grave, 
But    let    him    live.     Make    ashes    of     my 

life, 
Take  from   me  every   hope  —  but    let    him 

live!  < 
Strike    here,    here,    and    not    otherwhere ! 

Or    if 

I   may   not   look   for  mercy,  yet  must   she, 
Who   of   that   murder   goeth   innocent, 
Walk    with    me    hand    in    hand   into    this 

fire? 

By  our  two   souls  that  anchor   on   his  life. 
O,  wilt  Thou  smite   where   all   is   holiest, 
Smite  at  the  very  fount  of  hope  and  faith, 
And    wring    the    spirit    for    the    fault    of 

flesh  ? 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  115 

Or  if  with  mine  her  doom   entangled  be, 
What  hath  he  done   that   he   must  pay  the 

price  ? 
What    crime     committed    save    the    being 

born  ? 
Then    must    my    sin    cancel    for    him    the 

light, 
Put   out    the    recent    sunbeam,    and    make 

blank 
The  murmurs    and   the   splendours    of    the 

world  ? 

0  Father,  by  that  hour,  when   Thou    wast 

dimmed 

To  human  in  the  clouds  on  Calvary !  — 
Enter  soldier,  suddenly 

1  come,  but  to  a  phantom  conflict  there; 


Ii6  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  leave  behind  the  real  battle  here. 

\_Exit  LISLE. 

[After  a  pause,  RATCLIFFE  slowly 
enters  and  puts  out  the  lights 
one  by  one,  and  goes  out,  leaving 
the  stage  in  complete  darkness. 
After  a  pause  a  female  figure  is 
seen  issuing  from  the  door  on  the 
left,  who  goes  over  to  the  window  at 
the  back,  and,  withdrawing  slowly 
the  curtain,  the  glimmer  of  dawn 
is  seen.  She  stands  a  moment 
gazing  outward ;  a  single  sigh  of 
wind  is  heard.  Enter  RATCLIFFE, 
wearily,  from  the  door  on  the 
right.  He  is  about  to  cross  the 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  117 

room  when  the  woman  stops  him 
with  finger  on  her  lip  and  points 
to  door  of  sleeping  room.  RAT- 
CLIFFE  retires,  bowing  his  head. 
As  the  woman  crosses  back  to  the 
door  on  the  left,  she  is  met  by  a 
nurse,  who  with  whispers  gives  her 
an  empty  phial.  The  woman  goes 
out  with  this  by  the  door  on  the 
right,  the  nurse  remaining  at  the 
other  door,  and  listening.  She  then 
starts  and  hurries  inward.  The 
woman  returns  with  the  phial  and 
is  met  by  the  doctor,  issuing  from 
door  on  left.  He  has  a  glass,  and, 
holding  the  phial  to  the  light,  pours 


Ii8  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

some  of  it  out  carefully,  drop  by 
glimmering  drop.  Meanwhile  the 
room  is  growing  gradually  lighter 
and  more  light.  The  nurse  now 
quickly  emerges^  touching  the  doctor 
and  motioning  within.  She  and 
the  doctor  retire  within,  the  woman 
standing  beside  the  door  motionless. 
Reenter  RATCLIFFE  hastily  and 
stealthily  ;  he  draws  the  woman  into 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  points 
to  window,  while  a  noise  of  hoofs 
is  heard  approaching  and  ceases 
outside.  A  soldier  no^v  enters 
hurriedly,  but,  about  to  speak,  is 
motioned  to  silence  by  RATCLIFFE 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  119 

and  the  woman.     RATCLIFFE  takes 
soldier  down. 
RATCLIFFE.      Your  news?     But  soft,  in 

whisper. 

SOLDIER.       Victory ! 
Pomfret    relieved !  —  Sir    Hubert   from    hot 

fight 

Returning  —  well-nigh     home  —  already. 
Listen. 

[Far  off  is  heard  the  sound  of  the 
Puritan  hymn  of  victory.  It  grows 
louder  and  louder.  There  is  a 
sound  of  commotion  without,  and 
enter  LISLE,  casting  aside  his 
armour  as  he  comes,  followed  by 
cert  a  in  capta  ins. 


120  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

LISLE.     How   is   it   with   the   child  ? 

\The  woman  and  RATCLIFFE  motion 
him  to  silence. 

WOMAN.  Hush,  sir,  be  still. 

The     moment    is     approaching      and     the 

struggle. 
LISLE.     Let    me    go    in    to    him.     Hold 

me  not  back. 

\He  rushes  to  door,  but  is  met  by 
nurse,  with  finger  on  lip.  She 
stands  before  the  door. 

NURSE.     Hist!   do  not  now   disturb    him. 

Now  is  come 

The  moment  when   he  wakes  or  sleeps  for 
ever. 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  121 

[LISLE  signs  to  officers  to  withdraw, 
which  they  do  in  silence  with  bowed 
heads,  and  stealthily  followed  by 
RATCLIFFE.  The  nurse  and  woman 
retire  within,  silently.  LISLE,  left 
alone,  goes  to  window  at  back,  and, 
holding  up  his  hands,  causes  the 
chanting  of  the  soldiers,  which  has 
come  nearer  and  nearer,  to  subside  and 
cease.  He  comes  down  to  the  door 
and  stands  by  it,  breathing  heavily. 

LISLE.     God !     God ! 
Reenter    doctor,    who     stands    with    bowed 

head  at  door,  unnoticed  at  first  by  LISLE, 

who  at  length   sees  him 

The  child  is  dead? 


122  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

DOCTOR.  The  child  is  dead. 

\JExit  back  into  room. 

LISLE.     The  sin  of  David  mine,  and  mine 

the  doom ! 
Would  I  had  found  the  death  I  sought  with 

passion, 

There  in  the  storm  of  swords  round  Pomfret 
keep ! 

Yet  she  —  'tis   she   whom   now   I   must  re- 

I* 
member  ; 

She  is  alone  with  him  and  makes  no  cry. 
No!    she  is  very  silent:    most  she  needs 
My  arm  supporting,    and   upholding  words. 
With   her   must    I   abide,   lift,   and    sustain 

her. 
Enter  MIRIAM.     She  stands  alone  by  the  door. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  123 

MIRIAM.     What   have    I    done,  that    God 

hath  taken  my  child  ? 
LISLE.     \_Hesitatingly  and  tenderly^    How 

should    thy  deed   bereave    him    of   his 

breath  ? 
MIRIAM.       [Slowly     recognising     LISLE.] 

And  thou !   thou  wast    his  father,  wast 

thou  not? 
LISLE.       And     am     thy     husband     upon 

whom  to  lean. 
MIRIAM.      How    have    I    sinned?     I    do 

not  understand. 
LISLE.     O,  Miriam  — 
MIRIAM.     Wherefore  was  he  dangled  bright 
Before    my    eyes  a    moment  —  then    with- 
drawn ? 


124  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

He  had  just  learned  to  run  alone;   and  I 
Had   taught  him  a  few  words  —  and   he  is 

gone. 
LISLE.     How  can  I  help  you  but  a  little, 

tell  me  ? 
MIRIAM.     The  causeless   theft!     I   say  it 

were  relief 
To    feel    that    here    I    paid    for   some   far 

sin. 

Sooner  heaven's  ire  than  heaven's  indiffer- 
ence! 
O,    Hubert,   yes  —  on    me    this   doom    has 

fallen. 

LISLE.     On  thee  !     Why  thee  ? 
MIRIAM.  I  rushed  into  thy  arms 

In  headlong  passion   and  in  frenzied  blood, 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  125 

And    recked    not   of    my    husband,  nor    of 
law. 

This  is  my  punishment! 

LISLE.  Why  charge  thyself  ? 

Shall  we  accuse  us  of  the  frozen  bird, 

Plead  guilty  to   the  fallen  buds  of   spring? 
MIRIAM.     That    bud    was    mine;    and    I 
have  cankered  it : 

And  though   my  boy  came   from   me  with- 
out spot, 

And   though  his   body  from  the   scythe  of 
Death 

Lieth  as  sweet  as  mown  grass  in  the  even, 

Yet    on    his     soul    were    deep    transmitted 
stains, 

And  tell  tale  scars,  to  spirits  visible. 


126  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

LISLE.     Peace ! 

MIRIAM.  I   am  held  unworthy,  as 

who  should  say  — 
"  She    is    unclean :   ah,  trust    her   not   with 

babes." 

Sir,  I  was  no  fit  mother  for  your  child. 
LISLE.     Miriam ! 
MIRIAM.  A    mother?     No!    not 

even  a  nurse. 
I    had    known    too    much   to  dare    undress 

thy  babe. 
Where    lived     I     ere    I    came    into    your 

service  ? 
Had   you    made    close    enquiry  —  you   had 

straight 
Discharged  me. 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  127 

LISLE.    Wife ! 

MIRIAM.          Yet  there  where  he  is  gone, 
There's    none  so    pure  could   tend   on   him 

as  L 

So  brood  above  his  opening  eyes  at  dawn. 
When    was    I   wanting    found  ?     When,  for 

one  instant? 

When  was  I  caught  a  sentinel  asleep? 
What  flash  of  absence,  lightning  of  repose, 
Is   urged   against  me  ?     Why,  I  did  behold 
And  hear  the   coming  hours  approach  like 

foes, 
The    night   a   thief,  the   stars    with    poised 

spears, 

The  sun  like  an  incendiary  rushed. 
LISLE.     Beloved ! 


128  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

MIRIAM.     Yet  that  madness  all  outweighs ; 
In    blind    blood   have  I    sinned,  and    he   is 

struck. 
And     you !      I     have     made     you     suffer ! 

You'll  not  speak. 
Yet    the    gripped    hand,   the   soldier-silence 

tell. 
Mercy,  mercy,  my  lord  ! 

[She  casts  herself  at  his  feet. 

LISLE.  In  mercy  rise ! 

Cling   not  about   my  feet !     Loose  you   my 

knees ! 

I  will  not  see  you  suffer  or  abased ! 
Shudder  away  from  me !    Mine  was  the  sin, 
I,    I    alone    have    brought    this    vengeance 

down. 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  129 

MIRIAM.     Ah ! 

LISLE.         He  that   was  your  husband  — 

MIRIAM.  What  of  him  ? 

LISLE.  Fell  in  the  wild  assault  of 
Bolingbroke. 

MIRIAM.     Yes,  yes! 

LISLE.  Yet  died  he  by  no  accident. 

MIRIAM.     Hubert,  this  is  all  dark ! 

LISLE.  Whoe'er  should  lead 

That  desperate  onslaught,  he  must  surely  die. 
I  sent  your  husband. 

MIRIAM.  Knowing  this  ? 

LISLE.  Because 

I  knew  it.  I'll  not  spare  myself  ;  I'll  bare 
This  traitor  heart  unto  your  eyes  at  last. 

I  am  no  common  murderer,  Miriam. 

i 


130  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  slew  not  in  the  open,  nor  in  haste, 

Nor    wracked     with    jealousy :     I    trapped 

him  to  it, 

Beguiled     him     with     some    common     con- 
ference, 
Then     wrote     a     letter    marking    him    for 

death, 
And    watched    him    ride,   dying,    into    the 

night. 
MIRIAM.     Therefore    wast    thou    so   cold, 

and  could'st  not  kiss  me. 
Away! 

LISLE.     He  stood  between  us. 
MIRIAM.  Touch  me  not! 

LISLE.     The  path  to  you  across  his  body 
lay. 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  131 

MIRIAM.     Blood  is  upon  you  ! 

LISLE.  Yet  —  yet ! 

MIRIAM.  Not  his  blood, 

0  murderer! 

LISLE.  And  if  murderer  I  be, 

Then  for  thy  sake  am  I  a  murderer. 
MIRIAM.     No !  not  of  him. 
LISLE.  Of  whom  then  ? 

MIRIAM.  Of  my  child. 

LISLE.     That    which    I    did,    I    did   with 
reeling  sense! 

1  see  the   moon   still  on   thy  tumbled  hair, 
That  smile   that  made  a  mist  of  the   great 

world. 

MIRIAM.     O  will   you   dare  to   make   me 
your  accomplice  ? 


132  THE  SIN  OF  DAVW 

'Twas    I    that    set    you    on,    I     beckoned 

you  ? 

LISLE.    No !  but  thy  moonlit  beauty  mad- 
dened me. 
MIRIAM.    Ah!    will   you  speak   of  beauty 

at  this  moment? 

This  beauty !  and  my  boy  so  close  and  cold, 
I  sicken  through  all  my  body.     Then  these 

eyes 
That  still  shine,  and  these  lips  that  dare  to 

speak, 

This  bosom,  very  snow  from  hills  of  Hell, 
This   flesh   which    still    I    wear,   whispered 

you  on? 
This    body    was    the    bait    then     and    the 

lure 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  133 

That  woo'd   you  to  that   murder — and,  my 

God, 
This  —  this  conceived   my   darling  !      Dead 

is  he? 

When  was  he  ever  otherwise  than  dead  ? 
As   soon    as   quickened,   sentenced,   judged   .  f 

already, 
Long,  long  ere  he  was  born. 

LISLE.  I,  I  alone 

Am  stained. 

MIRIAM.  \In  frenzy^   I'll   mar   this   body 

—  loose  your  hold. 
Grasp  not  my  wrists  —  this  poison-tree  I'll 

cleave. 
LISLE.   On  me  thy  fury!     Me!     Here  is 

thy  aim! 


134  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

I  only  have    sinned! 

MIRIAM.    [With  gradual  calm.]  Yet  this 
did  lure  thee  on. 

Now  on  the  wild  night-festival  of  sense 

The   spirit   morning   dawneth — or   is't  per- 
haps 

Merely  the  drunkard's  morning  penitence  — 

A   misery  matutinal  ?     All  our  marriage 

Had   from    the    first   this   taint   on   it.     No 
more 

We'll   meet,  nor  ever  touch  hands,  nor  for 
a  moment 

Glance  in  each  other's  eyes,  for  here  I  see 

God's  finger  fallen. 

[  With   a  certain   weary  sweetness. ~\    Hubert 
—  it  is  past, 


THE   SIN  OF  DAVID  135 

My  wrath  with   thee  —  but   let   us   fly  each 

other. 
Between,    an    angel     stands     with     flaming 

sword, 

And  at  his  feet   the  body  of  our  babe. 
Quickly  !    Apart !    Let  water  roll  between  us  ! 
Away,  like  those  first  parents  out  of  Eden  ! 
Fiery  behind  us  gates  of  Paradise! 

LISLE.   Yet  was   her  hand   in   his  for  all 

the   wrath. 
Still,  still  you   love  me?    Tell  me  this   at 

least/ 
MIRIAM.     Yes !  but  our  love  is  as  a  thing 

accursed. 
LISLE.     Woman,  I  grope  to  find  you,  but 

I  cannot 


136  THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID 

O,  is   there   no  way  to   you,  and   no  path, 
No  winding  path  ? 

MIRIAM.  No  way  for  thee  to  me. 

LISLE.     Dear,  have  I  lost  you  utterly? 

MIRIAM.  For  ever! 

LISLE.    God,  can   thy  sea   divide   as  does 

this  sea, 
O    God,    what    is    Thy   severing    grave    to 

this  ? 

\_A  pause;    then,  approaching  her  wistfully.^ 
The   child  did  you  resemble  in  his  smile, 
Yet  me  about  the  brow  a  little. 

MIRIAM.  Hush ! 

LISLE.    Leave    me    not    utter    darkness, 

give   me    some 
Gleam  of  a  far-off  meeting  ere  we  die, 


THE   SIN  OF  DA  VID  137 

Somewhere    at   last,    at    last    in    a    strange 
land, 

Or  shingle  at  the  ending  of  the  world! 
MIRIAM.    I  am  utterly  a-cold  and  without 
hope. 

I    would    creep    in     beside    the    dead     for 

warmth. 
LISLE.    Being  so  cold,   love,  whither   will 

you  wander  ? 

MIRIAM.   Away!      to  live  with   all   dumb 
things  that  yearn. 

I'll   nest   with    thee,  thou   mother  bird    re- 
turned, 

I   feel  thy  dreadful  circlings  in  my  blood. 

I'll  be  the  friend  of  the  robbed  lioness; 

Above  me,  lo !  the  unhindered  desert  moon ! 


138  THE  SIN  OF  DAVID 

0  I  am  stone  to  human  life  henceforth ! 
Yet,  if  I  feel,  I  feel  we  two  must  part. 

LISLE.    [After  a  struggle."]     Come,   then. 

Good-by.     Give  me  your  hand  once. 
MIRIAM.   [  Turning  and  seeing  kirn.'}     Ah  ! 
Why    did    you    turn    his    eyes    upon    me 

then  ? 

1  cannot  go  for  a  moment. 

LISLE.     \jComing  close  to  Aer.~]     Why  at 

all? 
Miriam,   it   seems    that    now    for    the    first 

time 
We    two    are    joined    together,     man    and 

wife. 

[She  makes  to  go.~]     No,  listen !     Then  go 
from  me  if  you  will. 


THE  SIN  OF  DAVID  139 

Our  former  marriage,  though   by  holy  bell 
And  melody  of  lifted  voices  blest, 
Was    yet    in    madness    of    the    blood    con- 
ceived, 
And    born    of     murder:     therefore    is    the 

child 
Withdrawn,   that    we   might  feel  the   sting 

of  flesh 

Corruptible;  yet  he  in  that  withdrawal, 
Folded  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Father, 
Hath  joined   us  in   a  marriage  everlasting; 
\_She   raises   her  head.']     Marriage    at    last 

of  spirit,  not  of  sense, 
Whose  ritual  is  memory  and   repentance, 
Whose    sacrament    this    deep    and    mutual 
wound, 


140  THE   SIN  OF  DAVID 

Whose   covenant   the   all   that   might   have 

been. 
[Solemnly.]      And    to    this    troth    majestic 

shadows  throng, 

And  stand  about  us  in  dumb  sympathy. 
In  presence  of  these  silent  witnesses, 
And  one  perchance  that  carrieth  now  a  babe, 
I    take    in    mine    thy   hand   and   call    thee 

wife  — 

Wife,  wife,  till  the  grave-shattering  trumpet! 
MIRIAM.  Yet 

I  want  the  little  hands  and  feet  of  him. 
LISLE.     Dear,  in  a  deeper  union   are  we 

bound 
Than    by    the    earthly    touch    of    him,    or 

voice 


THE  SIN  OF  DA  VID  141 

Human,  or  little  laughters  in  the  sun. 

We     by    bereavement    henceforth    are    be- 
trothed, 

Folded  by  aspirations  unfulfilled, 

And  clasped  by  irrecoverable  dreams : 

[She  falls    with    a   cry    on   his    heart \ 
where  he  holds  her  fast.~\ 

Last,   by    one   hope    more    deep   than   cer- 
tainty, 

That  though   the  child   shall   not  return  to 
us, 

Yet  shall  we  two  together  go  to  him. 
MIRIAM.     [Slowly  taking  his  hand  to  lead 
him.']     Will  you  come  in  with  me  and 
look  at  him? 

[Exeunt  slowly,  with  bowed  heads. 


When  the  Birds  Go  North  Again 

By  MRS.  ELLA   HIGGINSON 
Author  of  «  Mariella,  of  Out-West,'1  etc.,  etc. 


Cloth.      I2m0 


"The  poetry  of  the  volume  is  good,  and  its  rare  setting,  amid  the 
scenes  and  under  the  light  of  a  sunset  land,  will  constitute  an  attractive 
charm  to  many  readers."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  They  have  melody  to  an  unusual  degree,  and,  like  her  stories,  show 
an  ardent  love  of  natural  beauty.  In  emotion,  they  range  from  the 
merry  to  the  gravest  moods."  —  Providence  Journal. 


The  Voice  of  April-Land 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

By  MRS.  ELLA  HIGGINSON 

Author  of  "  From  the  Land  of  the  Snow  Pearls,"  ctc^  etc. 

Vellum.     1 2 mo.    $1.25  net 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

64-66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 


ULYSSES 

A  Drama  in  a  Prologue  and  Three  Acts 

By  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 

Author  of  "  Paola  and  Francesca,"  "  Herod,"  etc. 

Cloth.     i2mo.    $1.25  net 

"  That  a  young  man  should  in  so  short  a  time  have  sent  us  all  back 
to  read  our  Dante,  our  Josephus,  and  our  Homer,  is  no  small  achieve- 
ment. And  that  after  reading  them  we  have  pronounced  the  young 
man's  work  not  unworthy  of  mention  in  the  same  breath  with  the 
masters,  is  high  enough  praise."  —  Boston  Budget. 

"Mr.  Phillips'  work  stands  well  under  analysis.  There  are  many 
lines  of  rare  beauty  of  conception  and  expression.  .  .  .  The  heroic 
and  impassioned  speeches  are  deep-sounding  and  stirring,  while  in  his 
tenderer  moods  the  poet  is  idyllic  in  imagery,  without  descending  to 
affectation."  —  Denver  Republican. 


POEMS 

MY  COUNTRY 

WILD  EDEN 

THE  PLAYERS'  ELEGY 

THE  NORTH  SHORE  WATCH 

ODES  AND  SONNETS 

By  GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY 

Author  of  "The  Heart  of  Man,"  "  Makers  of  Literature,"  etc. 

Cloth.     1 2 mo.    $1.50  net 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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